An American Demon in London
by Margolo Blu
Summary: Dedicated to an old family friend. Hellboy visits London on Hallow's Eve, what sort of mischief is he going to find?


_All characters and quotes copy written to their respected owners. _

_In loving memory of Warren Zevon. You were just one of the many people who told my mother that Kidz Bop just isn't right. Thank you, from all of us. Rest In peace. _

_Please read the endnotes at the bottom! _

**An American Demon in London**

"That's the problem with you American squares; you can't open your minds to the world. You sit there saying there's a logical explanation to the world and see everything—so one dimensional. You should lighten up and enjoy the more exotic, say like a Pina Colada," the black clothing and black sunglasses bedecked man said. Each word was performed with a twist of the wrist, as if the man himself was on stage. The man pushed a foamy, yellow-orange drink across the table.

"Look, beatnik, buddy, I'm a six-foot-five demon with a prehensile tail, plus, I'm allergic to coconut," Hellboy said, clenching his cigar between large, square teeth. He pushed the cup back over. "I'm pretty…unsquare…if you get my drift."

The man pulled down his glasses, careful not to mess up his well trimmed, dark brown hair, and cocked an arched eyebrow. He took the pina colada, gripping the Styrofoam cup tightly in a preened hand. "I get your drift. There's a bad moon on the rise."

"A bad moon on the rise?" Hellboy asked. The man nodded, smirking as he drank the pina colada.

"Yes, I see a bad times coming. I hear the voice of rage and ruin," the man said dramatically, spreading his fingers and hands across his face.

"Look are you people always this dramatic, on and off the stage?" Hellboy said, indicating the man with the burning end of his cigar. "I have important business to do. There's been mutilation of an elderly woman in Kent, and some sightings of werewolves in Mayfair. I heard you could help from some of your limerick buddies down in Kent."

In demonstration, Hellboy pushed some black and white photos across the table. One was of a kitchen door, splintered, the remnants of it flung across a tile floor. The others were of the body of an elderly lady. The beatnik raised an eyebrow. He pushed the pictures back, unshaken by Hellboy's farce.

The beatnik laughed and leaned back in his seat, putting his feet up on the café table. "Drama is what makes the world goes round. And yes, I know what you speak of. And isn't today…Devil's Holiday, the night before Halloween? The day of destruction and pranks, as well as an important day for Satanists and evil spirits, say werewolves?"

"Yes," Hellboy said. "And to think I thought you weren't as intoned with the supernatural."

"Ahh," the beatnik said, lifting a finger and pointing to the ceiling, "the supernatural is the drama of the world. Indeed it is, and tonight, is quite a dramatic time in deed. The spirits of dead, good and evil, victims and offenders, those of violence and those of love, come to haunt the streets. The monsters hidden in their nooks and crannies come out to play on London streets. Don't go out tonight; it's bound to take someone's, who is foolish enough to be out, life."

"Well, that's why I'm here," Hellboy said, standing up. He picked his coat up and fixed it over his shoulders. "Thanks for your…ah…help."

"You're welcome," the man answered. "I'll advise getting your things together. We're in for some bad weather tonight. And if you're looking for some bad weather, the old graveyards are always a great place for bad weather."

"Yeah, whatever," Hellboy said, opening the door to the café and walking onto the London streets with their predominately rainy weather.

Passing the window to the café, he spotted the beatnik talking to a distraught woman, a woman who had the misfortune of walking in the raining streets of London without an umbrella. She was soaking wet, her ginger locks dripped with rain onto the table. The beatnik, with the same smart-aleckness he gave Hellboy, pointed onto a damp map the woman carried to some location. The expression on the woman's face lifted as her directions were clarified.

It was nearly seven' o'clock, judging by big Ben's Hand—maybe closer to seven thirty, hell, it could even be eight. He couldn't tell in the darkness and glare from the street lights, plus the ever present fog.

Despite the darkness and the ominous feeling, or maybe because of it, people, more correctly adults, were parading around the streets in costumes. In Hellboy's opinion, Halloween was Halloween in Great Britain. Instead of days of plastic masks and thin, polyester costumes and sugar induced comas and equally sugary Hanna Barbara cartoon specials, Halloween, especially Devil's Night, was a time of haunting, of pure terror, of a land in the grips of bogles, ghoulies, hags, goblins, and formorii. No corny masks, no candy corn (nothing but earwax, sugar, and dye), just scary costumes and maybe a pint down at a local tavern.

Instead of a traditional horse costume made up of two people, a couple were dressed a nuckelavee. They even went as far as to hang peat moss from its skinless muscles, obviously made from red yarn wrapped around PCP pipes, but Hellboy had to give them an A+ on originality. Across the street, some people crossed, dressed perfectly as the Marx Brothers. A costumed man and woman, walking armin arm, brushed pass Hellboy. The woman was a dead ringer to Queen Victoria. She even walked with her nose in the air, though she was not so careful to keep the lace at thebottom of her dress from dragging in the mud. The man was the Phantom of the Opera. With glee, Hellboy realized he was costumed as the phantom from the 1920s silent version. Ahh…it's good to see people who love the older arts, none of that drama crap the beatnik was spouting earlier.

The communicator at Hellboy's side beeped. He pulled up and held it close to his mouth.

"Give it to me," Hellboy said.

"We've got something down at the Kensal Green," a man, his voice distorted, spoke up. "Part of a human lung, some what digested, filled with tar—cigarette tar, that old woman killed up in Kent was a smoker for fifty-five years. Definitely has to be hers"

"Why did you have to go and tell me that, Jay?" Hellboy hissed into the communicator.

"What? The barfed up lung?" the man answered

"No, the tar," Hellboy answered, tossing his cigar butt onto the moist cobbles.

&&&

Hellboy gagged as Jay took a pot from the back of a van. The smell burnt the hair out of his nostrils. "What is that stuff? Is that the rotten beef I asked for? Man, what did you do, sit this on a heater then bury it underground?"

"No," Jay answered, his nose covered by a device used to pinch swimmer's nostrils together, "do you know how hard it is trying to find rotten meat around here? I ask someone, and they look at me if I'm some kind of nut or safety inspector, and they say they've got no rotten meat."

Hellboy managed a glimpse under the lid. There was an indistinguishable brown mass with a few white wormlike forms sticking out of it.

"Three week old steak and kidney pie, courtesy of a sorority and green beef chow mein courtesy from the dumpster behind Dynasty Buffet," Jay answered.

"Who had the 'honor' of digging that out?" Hellboy answered.

"Willard, and he's back atthe hotel chucking up in the john," Jay answered, pointing behind him.

Hellboy hefted the pot, even more carefully than if it was a cursed object. "I want everyone to clear out with the exception of armed individuals, no civilians allowed. If that thing's thrown up, then it's hungry. I don't want there to be anymore victims. I've got this taken care of. Got it?"

"Got," Jay said. He leaned into his communicator. "Got that? Clear out of the vicinity. I want operatives in a two block radius, no unauthorized personal allowed in the vicinity of the cemetery."

Jay slipped over his mask and took off his heavy coat and threw in into the back of the van. He slammed the door and patted it, indicating the driver to leave. In the corniest of corniest, Jay was dressed as Robin, from the Batman series. Of to the side, he saw Janice disappear into an alleyway dressed as Eartha Kitt. Agent Lu came from a donut shop carrying a box of donuts and wearing a Batman costume even too banal for the show, his stomach hung out over his utility belt.

"What?" Jay asked, as Hellboy turned, chuckling.

&&&

"Damn, I don't know what's nastier, this stuff or the smell of wet, moldy coffin dirt," Hellboy grunted, hacking a ladleful over grime covered tombstones. The only feature discernible of the tombstones was that they were gravestones. Years of grime, pollution, erosion, and vandalism, left all unreadable. Most were faceless, some pockmarked, and others piles of moss covered rubble.

The pot was finally empty and Hellboy was more than happy to relieve himself of it. With a clang louder than intended, it ricocheted off of tombstones. Hellboy grimaced.

In the center of the cemetery was a huge stone wall, about fifteen or more feet high. It was a former building, perhaps even a mausoleum or a church, or quite possibly an original wall to the cemetery, most of it torn down as the graveyard expanded during the black plague. Behind the wall endured a knobby oak, its bark smooth with time and bare branches covered with moss. The moon tinged orange in a velvet black night sky appeared to be entangled in the oak's knobby branches. The moon was huge, even larger than a harvest moon. It rose out of the branches.

Something moved from behind the wall.

Damn, Hellboy ducked down behind a crumbling mausoleum. He peaked out, his gun in hand.

It prowled out slowly then sat down at the end of the wall like a dog awaiting its owner. It was one of the largest werewolves Hellboy had ever dealt with, it had to be an alpha werewolf, by the glint in its eyes—it was. A werewolf so ancient, so powerful, that it no longer had use for its feeble human body. The body became a grotesquely large, malformed wolf, while its mind remained human—sometimes the mind was even more monstrous than the body.

This wolf was a motley reddish-brown. The fur around its face was gone, revealing human brows and a bare, blunt wide muzzle. Its hind quarters were squat and heavily build, the tail, or what was left of it, was scraggly and matted. The front paws, devoid of fur, roughly remained like human hands, albeit a few fingers were missing.

With a single bound the werewolf leapt onto the top of wall, a graceful move despite its disproportional body and bulk. The orange-red moon silhouetting its form, it leaned back howled. The howl echoed in the abandoned cemetery.

And it continued, and then Hellboy realized it was not an echo but other werewolves. A honey brown werewolf, small and spindly and looking more like a wolf than a hybrid, jumped down from the top of a building with the stealth not seen in a typical canine. Two more wolves trotting side by side came from the opposite direction. These one appeared more humanoid, walking on their hind legs. One was a fluffy mix of grays and whites. It held its head up to sniff the air cautiously. The other was a sleeker, dark grey. Coming down the pathway Hellboy navigated, was a black wolf. It paused near the mausoleum, Hellboy hid behind, then pawed over to the others.

The wolves lined up, the black wolf first, the fluffy wolf, the sleek grey, then the scrawny brown one below the wall and the alpha wolf. The alpha nodded.

The muscles in the black wolf tightened as it lowered itself to the ground. Its hind legs violently trembled like the lid of a pressure cooker before exploding. It leapt to the top of wall, landing on the edge. The alpha nodded. Then it nodded to the fluffy wolf. Despite its bulk and awkward hybrid body, it hurdled its body to the top of the wall. Because of its body, it nearly fell off, but held on desperately with its massive class. It received a nod and the dark grey was given the go ahead. It experienced the same difficulties as the fluffy white wolf, but maintained its balance. The alpha nodded and all attention was turned to the quivering golden brown wolf.

Before it leapt, Hellboy knew the wolf was not going to reach the top. It did not wait long enough to build of the power necessary to spring upwards. It hit eighteen inches shy of the top. Its paws scrapped at the wall, dislodging stones and moss. It whimpered and scratched at the wall as it slid down like a puppy scraping at the patio door.

It hit the ground hard. It remained limp, so limp that Hellboy thought it hurt itself. Then it pulled itself up, its legs bending inward, not from pain, but from fear. Its tail curled between its legs. The alpha bounded down. It snarled, exposing worn, yellow teeth flecked with black and rotting flesh. The small wolf tried to avoid a lunge from the alpha, but it grabbed a hold of its tiny front limbs and shook it violently like a ragdoll. The limb snapped, the small werewolf yelped, as it was tossed about. The alpha's back was turned and his attention was to maiming the smaller wolf when Hellboy raised his gun.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Three silver bullets with white oak shavings in the tipped and carved with crosses were shot. Two hit the back of the werewolf. One bullet ricocheted off the wall and in a flash of sparks disappeared into the murk. The alpha reared back, howling and snarling. The small werewolf limped into the darkness. The three on the wall scattered like cats, but not landing as silently as cats.

The alpha, its back fizzing, turned to face him. Its mouth was foaming as well with yellow and pink tinged foam. Black talons ripped through its human finger tips. The yellow eyes, the glare long gone, were wide and flecked.

"What? Fluffy have a booboo?" Hellboy said.

The werewolf lunged for Hellboy, foam flying from its mouth. In his right hand, Hellboy gripped the top of the alpha's muzzle. His smaller, left hand clutched the werewolf's narrow, bottom jaw. He could feel the beast's teeth slice through the thin skin of his palm.

"Good thing this werewolf shit doesn't work on me," Hellboy said, tightening his grip.

He slammed the body of the wolf into the wall like it was a sack of potatoes. The wolf snarled and tried to pull free. Hellboy slammed him again. The center of the wall crumbled. The werewolf grew limper, but still fought. With the wall gone, Hellboy threw the body of the werewolf into the wall of the mausoleum. The mausoleum crumbled. From the rubble the werewolf pulled free. Foam and hate copiously formed from its mouth and eyes.

"Bye-bye, Fluffy," Hellboy said nonchalantly.

The Celtic cross made from greenstone that once rested on the top of the building, fell from its molding, crushing the werewolf's skull. The hind leg twitched then grew stiff.

"Come on Fluffy," Hellboy said, grabbing hold of the hind paw in his stone hand, "lets go home and give you a bath."

He dragged the body of the alpha away, leaving a black, bloody streak on the ground.

&&&

On the remnants of the wall, the black wolf leapt up. Leaning back, the wolf took a human form, the form of the beatnik. From between his teeth he picked a dry, Lo Mien noodle.

"Fomr is dead, the wall is gone, and the tradition has died," he said.

"So everything's gone as planned, Jack?" a woman dressed in a fluffy Victorian gown asked.

"Right-o-daddy-o," Jack answered, jumping down. "How's your arm Roz?"

A ginger haired woman was sitting on the ground, cradling her shattered arm. "It will be fine, give me a moment."

There was a crack, as she cracked the arm back into place. Muscle, sinew, bone healed instantly. "Dammit, Fomr nearly killed me."

"Fomr is dead, the drama is gone, and you know what that means," Jack said with a dance step. "No more leaping, no more death. Hey Edward, how many of us were there originally?"

"Nineteen," an elderly man said, sliding on a whitemask. "Nineteen now four. In my two hundred years, Isaw no one die.I saw fifteen of us die in the past twenty. Fomr said we were getting weak in this time. Every year we leap, I am reminded and frightened of that."

"Maybe that is the way to go," Jack said. "The night is young, the moon has risen, and who is up for some beef lo mien and pina coladas, I've got a sudden craving for them, it's on the house."

Jack reared his head up to the sky and howled. "Aroo! The werewolves are a comin'."

_Explanation: According to French legend, werewolves would gather on Halloween eve at a cemetery. To show their strength and prowess, they would bound over a wall. Those who did not make it, were brutally mauled or beaten to death._

Margolo Blu,Title: "Werewolves of London"  
Summary: "Another song based fanfic, one shot, Hellboy's at it agian with CCR and Warren Zevon. Enjoy."

Rating: "Fiction Rated: T"Main reason for removal: "Not allowed: interactive, chat/script, real person, mst, and etc."The above story has been removed because it violated the guideline detailed on the upload page.

This infraction has been recorded and once you reach a certain limit, your account be automatically banned. Moreover, as a result of this infraction, you will not have upload access for a period of time. has a set of guidelines for the uploading of stories and chapters.

_Screw that! I worked on this piece for two days, had way, way, way too much fun writing it and put way too much work into it. _


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